


all our stolen moments (i'd spend forever with you)

by earlgrey_milktea



Series: milktea's saso2017 fills [20]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Future Fic, M/M, Prompt Fill, Quiet, Sleepy Cuddles, Slice of Life, Snapshots, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-16 11:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11252061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: quiet moments between matsukawa and hanamaki.it's all worth it, in the end.





	1. yawning at dawn

**Author's Note:**

> prompt card [here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=12292329#cmt12292329)
> 
> i have no self control but these prompts were so pretty i had to
> 
> these ficlets are probably going to be set in the same universe, maybe at different points in time!!

Hanamaki yawns for the seventeenth time that hour, head leaning back until he bumps against the wall he’s slumped against. His eyes are barely open.

Issei drops his hands from the fence. It makes a small twanging sound as his fingers catch against a hole. They’re on the school roof, having broken in late last night when all the students and faculty has left. They even managed to sneak their sleeping bags and hoard of convenience store foods—onigiri, hi-chews, multiple pocky boxes, a few bottles of fruit-flavoured black teas, that seaweed flavoured chips Hanamaki likes so much—with them. It was Hanamaki’s idea, initially, to go with a bang, but Issei is the one that actually stole the key. He just has a trustworthy face, he supposes. They’d invited Iwaizumi and Oikawa, too, but their friends both said they were busy, while suspiciously refusing to make eye contact with each other. Issei understands; somehow, he is glad this moment is something shared between Hanamaki and him, just the two of them and no one else.

He turns to look at the other boy on the roof. Spring is here, but it’s chilly this high up and this late—or early? Hanamaki is bundled up in three layers, legs still in his sleeping bag. Issei’s hat is jammed on his head, until only a few messy strands of his pale hair sticks out. He looks warm, and Issei feels so incredibly fond.

“Makki,” he says quietly. “Congratulations on your graduation.”

Hanamaki peeks up at him. His eyes are almost translucent in the barely-there light coming up behind Issei. “Back at ya,” he returns, just as quietly. He nods towards the fence. “Sun’s coming up.”

Issei turns back around, and finds that Hanamaki is right. The first rays of sunlight just kisses the horizon, stretching up slowly, almost lazily. The sky is a mess of pastel hues, blushing pink and orange and gradually chasing away the streaks of midnight blue and royal purple. It’s nothing short of breathtaking.

The sunrise takes barely minutes, and then the weariness of staying up all night and the thrill of pulling such a stunt in the wee hours of their graduation ceremony catches up to him. Issei yawns, head thrown back. Behind him, he hears Hanamaki echo his yawn.

“You’re contagious,” Hanamaki accuses when he goes over to sit beside him.

“You started it,” Issei says, “you serial yawn-er.”

“Can’t believe you got higher marks than me in Japanese.”

“We’re all smarter on paper.”

Hanamaki lifts the blanket he’s huddled under, and Issei shifts closer until they’re pressed flush against each other. He pulls his hood up, sticks his hand into Hanamaki’s pocket. Hanamaki tilts his head until he’s leaning on Issei’s shoulder, and Issei, in turn, rests his head on top of his friend’s. 

As the sun rises steadily, beaming down warmly and painting gold across the roof of building B, the two of them sleeps, breathing in with the knowledge that when they wake, they’ll be just fine.


	2. idle thoughts at 2 am

The digital clock on the nightstand says it’s 1:58 am. Takahiro blinks blearily at the wall, still trapped in that strange space between wakefulness and dreaming. He’s not entirely sure what woke up him. His body still feels too heavy, mind too hazy. Rolling over, Takahiro burrows further into the blankets. It’s warm, almost too comfortably so. 

He’s suddenly aware of another body occupying the space beside him.

Slowly, Takahiro turns on his side, and through the dim light coming in through the closed blinds, makes out the shape of Matsukawa. The other boy is sprawled out beside him, fast asleep. His lips are parted slightly, chest rising and falling evenly, an arm thrown over his stomach.

Takahiro doesn’t remember falling asleep last night, and he certainly doesn’t remember how they ended up in the same bed. This is Matsukawa’s bedroom, he realizes, spotting the corner of that one obscure movie from the nineties, the one that makes zero sense to Takahiro no matter how Matsukawa explained it. He must have dozed off in between completing his paper and working on upcoming assignments. Matsukawa’s room, just a couple doors down from his own dorm unit, is much quieter and cleaner and Takahiro has always preferred to study in here. It helps that the familiar presence of his best friend is at his back when he needs it, too.

The bed isn’t really built for two lanky boys. Takahiro’s close to falling off the edge, and Matsukawa’s body looks like it’s scrunched up against the wall. The blanket is one he brought from home—Takahiro recognizes it from the few occasions he slept over during high school. It’s meant for a queen-sized bed, but it’s warmer this way. Takahiro hasn’t felt his secure and at home in a long time.

Matsukawa shifts onto his side fully. Takahiro does his best to keep from being shoved off the bed. He looks up, and feels his mind slow down. He stares.

Matsukawa’s curls are frizzy from sleep. They frame his face and smush against the pillow, but they somehow still makes Takahiro’s fingers itch to run through them. The muted silver-blue light slinking in from the city outside casts shadows onto Matsukawa’s face, in between the sharp cheekbones, that defined jaw, the proud nose. Matsukawa isn’t pretty; he’s always been sort of long and awkward at first glance—except when he’s on the court. When he’s on the court, Takahiro is filled with pride because his best friend moves with an effortless, confident grace that, in his opinion, rivals the great Oikawa Tooru. But after years of staring up at this face, learning and mapping all the expressions—neutral poker face, lazy smirks, playful grins, frustrated frowns, and now, peacefully asleep—Takahiro wouldn’t mind staring at this face for the rest of his restless nights and early mornings.

Matsukawa shifts again, and this time he stirs awake. Dark eyes blink open, and Takahiro blinks back. “What’s up?” Matsukawa says, voice rough and barely above a whisper, yet loud in Takahiro’s 2 am thoughts.

“Nothing,” Takahiro says. He shuffles forwards until his forehead hits Matsukawa’s collarbone. “Go back to sleep.”

Matsukawa hums, and Takahiro feels the vibration against his skin. A hand comes to rest at the back of his head, long fingers stroking his hair once, twice.

Takahiro closes his eyes and, with the steady rhythm of his best friend’s breathing grounding him, drifts off to sleep.


	3. goodbye at 07:04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part i of ii

“You have your ticket? Your wallet? Your cellphone?”

“Yes, mother,” Issei says, and Hanamaki swats at his head. 

They’re standing in the busy station, crowds bustling and rushing every which way as people checked and double-checked their tickets and hurried on their way to the right gate. Issei’s alarm went off at five in the morning. He didn’t manage to get much sleep the night previous, and he’s suffering for it now, yawning and feeling a bit light-headed in the bright lights and constant buzz of suitcase wheels on marble floor. 

Hanamaki isn’t doing much better. There are faint dark smudges under his eyes, and he hadn’t even bothered to dab on concealer. He’s clutching an extra large cup of coffee, but Issei hasn’t seen him take more than the first few initial sips.

“You sure you have everything?”

“Yeah.” Issei fiddles with the strap of his carry-on. “Thanks for driving me here.”

“It’s fine,” Hanamaki says, waving a hand. His eyes keep trailing downwards.

He’s had this trip planned for a while. It’s not like he kept it a secret from Hanamaki, either. They’re not the type of friends that can keep things from each other for long—sure, they’re both quiet people, independent in the way that they’ll figure things out for themselves before voicing things out loud. And that works for them. Issei trusts Hanamaki to tell him about things that concern the both of them, and Hanamaki expects the same. So when he broke the news, they both let it sink in slowly, quietly, like snow melting, untouched.

Now Issei stands across from Hanamaki, a ticket to the other side of the country for an indefinite amount of time. He bites his lips, trying to find his words around the strange lump in his throat. 

“It’s not like—”

“—you’re not coming back,” Hanamaki finishes.

Their gazes finally meet. Issei attempts a small smile. Hanamaki mirrors it. 

“I’ll call you when I get there,” he says.

Hanamaki shakes his head. “Call your parents first, you doof.”

“Fine. But you text me when you get home.”

“Okay. Now go, you’re going to miss your train.”

Issei hefts his backpack over his shoulder, tucks his important essentials into his pockets. He reaches for his carry-on, and then stops. He straightens, meets Hanamaki’s gaze again.. The other barely has time to widen his eyes before Issei covers the two steps between them, and wraps his arms around his best friend, tight enough to feel his warmth through his puffy jacket.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmurs, voice muffled and lost in the noise of the morning commuter crowd.

Hanamaki doesn’t answer, but he squeezes back, and Issei knows that he heard, anyway. 

When Issei enters the gate, he casts one last glance back. He can’t see Hanamaki through the throng of people. He can still feel the comforting heat from the hug. Issei takes a deep breath, and presses forwards. 

He’s already missing home.


	4. train at 21:12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part ii of ii

The station is near empty when Takahiro arrives. He makes his way to the seating area, finding a quiet corner where he can see the trains pulling in. It’s late, and he has work the next morning, but hell if he was going to miss this. 

He’s missed Matsukawa so much already.

His phone says it’s just past nine. The train should be arriving soon. It’s just a few short minutes, but Takahiro can barely keep himself still. What is he, a second grader? He can wait. He can sit patiently. 

Takahiro’s leg jiggles. The plastic of the seat is cold, and there’s a slight breeze drifting by. He hopes Matsukawa remembered to put on a jacket. It’s much colder here at home than where he was living for the past few months.

“Oh my god,” groans Takahiro, pressing his phone against his face. “I’m turning into such a mom friend.”

In the distance, he hears the whistle of a train. Not the one he’s waiting for, though. He checks his phone again. The twelfth minute has never seen so far. There’s an old lady sitting a few seats down from him. He wonders what she’s doing out this late at night. He wonders who she’s waiting for. He hopes she gets home alright.

Forcing his legs to stop twitching, Takahiro pulls up his newest game app. It’s something mundane, simple mechanics and brightly coloured graphics. Oikawa recommended it to him. He doesn't know how the guy finds time to waste on a stupid game like this when he’s almost always moving to check off the next item on his list. Takahiro accidentally peeked at Oikawa’s phone calendar once. He’s had nightmares about schedules since then.

He’s so busy tapping away at his screen to collect gold coins that he misses the arrival of the train completely. He doesn’t notice until a pair of feet enters his vision and a shadow blocks out the lights from the ceiling.

“Are you... raising Magikarp?”

Takahiro almost drops his phone in his hurry to stand up. Matsukawa is in front of him, bags on the ground and black curls an unruly mess. It’s hard to tell through a video chat, but Matsukawa’s hair has gotten longer since he last saw him. He looks different, and yet all too familiar.

“Issei,” he says.

Matsukawa smiles at him. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Takahiro barely remembers to put his phone back into his pocket before he’s throwing his arms around the other man, brushing his nose against the side of Matsukawa’s neck. He breathes in. “Welcome home, Issei.”

The smile Matsukawa gives him chases away the night chill. 

“I’m home, Takahiro.”


	5. humming at dusk

“There you are.”

Matsukawa slides the screen door shut behind him. He hands a plate of watermelons to Takahiro, and then settles down next to him. His long legs swing over the edge of the porch. Takahiro hopes he put on some bug spray because he knows from past experience that summer bugs are ruthless. He’s already sporting seven bites himself, and that’s just on his legs. 

“Can’t believe you left me alone with your grandparents,” Matsukawa says.

“They love you like their own,” Takahiro reminds him.

Matsukawa smiles. He grabs a watermelon slice from the plate. Takahiro does the same, and they sit in comfortable silence.

The sky is starting to darken. They’re well into July, and even though Takahiro is dressed in shorts and a thin tank-top, he still feels hot. Thankfully, the sun’s gone down now, and there’s that night time coolness chilling Takahiro’s sweaty skin. The sky is a pretty shade of green-blue, fading gold streaks in the distance. The sound of cicadas and crickets drown out his own heartbeat. The edo furin hanging above their heads tinkle softly. Takahiro licks a stray drop of watermelon juice from his hands. It’s sweet.

Inside the house, he can hear the muted sounds of his grandparents moving about. They were happy to see them. Takahiro hadn’t had much time to visit, being busy with work and school and all, but every time he comes around it’s like he never left. Only the growing whiteness of his grandpa’s hair and the added laugh lines on his grandma’s face tells the passing of time. He misses them every time he leaves, but he can’t stay in the countryside forever. They really spoil him too much.

He’s glad Matsukawa came with him. His friend has known Takahiro’s family since high school, and was pretty much adopted as soon as he stepped through the door and presented that charming smile of his. It helps that Matsukawa somehow manages to give off that air of responsibility Takahiro never possessed. He has everyone fooled, Matsukawa does, because Takahiro knows what it’s really like living with the nerd. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. Takahiro’s grandparents are happy people, but they always seem to laugh more with Matsukawa. Takahiro feels the same.

He doesn’t realize he’s started humming along to the old song playing on the tv inside until Matsukawa joins in. Takahiro glances over, finding the other boy’s eyes already on him. 

“You’re off tune,” Matsukawa says.

Takahiro throws his watermelon peel at him. “Like you’re any better.”

They sit watching the stars come out of hiding, the taste of sweet, sweet watermelon sliding down their throats, and the lazy melody of that old song drifting between them.


	6. never again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [adele voice] hello it's me, i've been crying over seijoh third years again,

“Never again,” Hanamaki groans, and Issei laughs.

They’re sitting on the stairs outside the gym—or, Issei is sitting, while Hanamaki is sprawled out across on the ground. His eyes are closed, face scrunched up in a grimace, the very picture of a sore loser. His hair is flat with sweat, sticking to his forehead and making him look about six years old.

“I’m never challenging Iwaizumi again,” he says. “I can’t feel my arms. Did they fall off? Matsukawa, my arms fell off. I have to sue Iwaizumi now.”

“I don’t think you’d win,” Issei replies. “Your arms are fine.”

“Aw, thank you.” Hanamaki peeks open one eye. “They might be fine but they’re weaaaak. Why didn’t you stop me, Mattsun? Why did you let me suffer against Iwaizumi like that.”

“Shouldn’t you be used to it by now?”

Hanamaki kicks him in the shin. He flops backwards onto the concrete step he’s stretched out on. “Why is Iwaizumi so strong, Matsukawa. What kind of a monster is he.”

“Maybe he’s an alien.”

“Is that why Oikawa is always all over him?”

Issei shrugs, not that Hanamaki can see. He leans back on his hands, tilting his head up towards the sky. It’s a beautiful day, blue skies all around and not a cloud in sight. They should probably find some shade before they get sunburned, but for now, he doesn’t want to move. Issei closes his eyes, and allows himself to soak in the sunshine.

“Hey, Matsukawa.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think...”

“Yeah, pretty sure I do.”

Hanamaki kicks him again, but this time, lets his foot rest on Issei’s knee. Issei places a hand on his ankle, and they stay like that for a couple heartbeats. He waits as Hanamaki collects his thoughts. 

“We’re a good team, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to beat Shiratorizawa, and Karasuno, and go to nationals.”

There’s a note of urgent hope in Hanamaki’s words. It’s strange, because he’s used to hearing those words—spoken like a mantra, ringing with radiant confidence like they had to, like it’s inevitable because they’re going to make it happen—from Oikawa, but here is Hanamaki, still with his eyes covered by his arms, saying them quietly, determinedly.

Issei can only agree.

“We’re going to nationals,” he says, and his hand squeezes Hanamaki’s ankle once, before he lets go completely.

It’s quiet between them for a while, until Hanamaki shifts, lifting his arm to squint at the sky. 

“Hey, Mattsun. You think Iwaizumi and Oikawa got lost on their way to the vending machines?”

Issei laughs. He slaps Hanamaki on the leg. “Let’s go find them, then.”


	7. lunch at 1 pm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this in the middle of the night which was Not Smart because now my stomach is growling, too

“Here.”

Takahiro looks up as Matsukawa drops a bottle of milk tea in his lap. He reaches up for the warmed bento box Matsukawa is holding, nodding his thanks. He scoots over on the bench, and Matsukawa plops down beside him, undoing the rubber bands on his own bento.

They’re outside the konbini, after a long, gruelling morning practice. Takahiro’s still thinking about his jump serve. He’s been trying to get it down since the training camp, but it’s harder than expected. And it’s even harder when you have Oikawa on the other side of the court, slamming serves down like he was made to do it. Takahiro isn’t jealous—Well, maybe he was, just a little. But who isn’t a little jealous of Oikawa Tooru? That’s fine, though. Watching Oikawa striking balls down like bullets and seeing his friend and captain’s hard work in between drills is incredibly inspiring. Takahiro hasn’t tried this hard at anything except volleyball.

“Hey, you want a piece of my pork chops?”

Takahiro glances over. Matsukawa holds out the box to him, eyebrows raised slightly. Dutifully, Takahiro picks out a piece of the grilled meat, and trades it for a piece of his fish.

“Thanks.”

Matsukawa hums. He nudges Takahiro with an elbow. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah. Tired, I guess.”

“Coach is always ruthless, this close to season starting.”

“True. But I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“I know how you feel,” sighs Matsukawa. “It’s our last year, too. Oikawa’s all ride or die, it’s kind of hard not to get dragged into his pace.”

Takahiro stabs a piece of fried tofu. “His pace is going to kill us all.”

Matsukawa tilts a smile at him. Loose curls hang over his eyes, giving him a soft, lazy sort of look. It’s familiar, and stupidly soothing. “Would you have it any other way?”

“Ha,” Takahiro snorts. He turns back to his lunch, and there’s a small smile pulling at his lips, too. “No,” he says. “Of course not.”

“Go big or go home.”

Takahiro’s stomach growls then, loud enough to be heard of the electronic jingle of the konbini doors. They both pause, glancing at each other. Then a smile cracks through Takahiro’s expression, and Matsukawa laughs. It’s deep, loud, kind of breathy, but it reminds Takahiro of sunny afternoons and victory dances. It’s all too easy, then, to laugh along, hands carefully curled around the bento to keep it from spilling and wasting five hundred yen.

He digs back in, finishing every last piece of rice and boiled vegetables. It’s nothing compared to his mother’s cooking, but it’s filling and satisfying right now. And with Matsukawa by his side, the meal has never gone down better. As he sets aside the empty box and reaches for the bottle of tea, he slides a glance over at Matsukawa.

“Is it too much to ask you to buy me a creampuff, too?”

Matsukawa puts his nearly-finished bento down, stands up, and leaves.

Takahiro chases him, laughing, and promises to buy him one, too.


	8. forever with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not a big fan of weddings yet i always find myself writing this scenario

Watari’s wedding is as beautiful as expected. His wife is a wedding planner, too, so everything is perfect and meticulously coordinated down to the very last detail. Even Issei can appreciate it, and he doesn’t own more than four colours in his wardrobe. 

Most of the old team is here. Oikawa is still recovering from surgery in America, so their former captain and vice captain are missing, but it’s really nice seeing them all again. It’s been years, and Issei is pretty sure he hasn’t heard from Kyoutani in ages, but there he is, nodding quietly along as some dear old relative chatters on in the seat next to him. They’ve all grown up. Issei knows he has changed, too, but it’s still strange, seeing his friends walking around in tailored suits like adults instead of the loud, baby-faced teenagers they were.

“Got you some cake,” Hanamaki says, swinging back into the seat next to his. “Apparently each layer is a different flavour. That’s ridiculous, so naturally, I tried to grab as many flavours as I could, anyway.”

“Which flavour is this?”

Hanamaki peers at the lopsided slice in Issei’s hands. “Vanilla? Lemon? Who knows?”

Issei takes a forkful and lifts it to Hanamaki’s mouth. Hanamaki opens his mouth obediently. Raising his eyebrows, Issei waits as Hanamaki licks the icing off his lips. 

“It’s pudding,” Hanamaki announces.

“Nice.” Issei absently scoops another forkful, eyes drifting over to where Watari is dancing with his bride. His eyes are soft on her, and only her, swaying gently to the music. The lights cast shadows on their faces, illuminating the rosy colour of their cheeks. Issei doesn’t think Watari has stopped smiling since they walked into the room. They look absolutely beautiful, and so incredibly happy.

“They look happy,” Hanamaki says.

Issei closes his eyes. There’s a strange lump in his throat, and he doesn’t think it has anything to do with the sweetness of the cake. “I’m happy for them,” he says, and he is, he really is, but at the same time, he’s... not angry, exactly. He just...  _ wants. _

Hanamaki’s fingers find his under the table, and he squeezes, as if saying,  _ I know.  _ He holds Issei’s hand for a moment. And then he says, so quietly, “You know you’re my happily ever after.”

“You’re mine, too,” Issei murmurs.

“I know.” Hanamaki squeezes his fingers again. The low lights of the ballroom reflect off his wide eyes, soft and steady on Issei’s own. “Forever and ever.”

Issei lets his gaze slip from the groom and the bride, and looks at the man by his side, his other half, his partner in crime, his Takahiro. He smiles, and squeezes his hand back. 


	9. kiss at sunset

Matsukawa’s waiting for him when Takahiro comes out of the clubroom. “Ready to go?” he says, and Takahiro nods.

They’re quiet as they leave the school. It’s late, near dinner time, and the streets in this neighbourhood are empty. The rain has been coming down hard lately, summer flash storms coming and going without so much as a warning. Takahiro jumps over a puddle. His footsteps echo on the cement road. He’s tired, but there’s something about this late afternoon walk with Matsukawa that makes him almost wish it would never end.

“Wanna go for some ramen?” he asks Matsukawa, and his friend shrugs. They change course for the marketplace by the train station.

Matsukawa walks with his hands in his pockets. He keeps his gaze straight ahead, barely even glancing at the buildings they pass by. Takahiro keeps his eyes on Matsukawa. There’s something about the way he walks, striding smoothly along with those long legs of his, a fluid grace that is hard to look away from. Matsukawa hums slightly, lost in his thoughts. Takahiro smiles slightly, lost in the company of his best friend.

They come across a skybridge, and Takahiro hops up the stairs, skipping a step as he goes. Matsukawa follows at a slower pace, brushing aside his curly bangs. At the top, Takahiro stops and turns. Matsukawa looks back at him, eyebrows raised.

“Something on my face?” 

Takahiro shakes his head. He glances out across the railings. Cars slip by below them, a constant buzz in the background, tail lights disappearing like a neon echo. The buildings around them throws sleepy shadows and the grey clouds above them drift lazily by. But in the distant horizon, just over the telephone poles, there is orange and feather-soft gold, pale blue and blushing pink.

“Matsukawa,” Takahiro says, pointing. “Look.”

Matsukawa draws up beside him, and looks. It’s nothing special, as sunsets go. They’ve seen more spectacular sunsets by their school. It’s just a corner of the sky, too far to reach, too small to take a picture of. But in this moment, just the two of them, there is something magical about it all.

“Hey, Takahiro,” Matsukawa says, and Takahiro turns. He’s smiling slightly, a lighthearted twinkle in his eye. “Can I kiss you?”

Takahiro knows he’s blushing, and he knows that Matsukawa knows. Still, he nods, and when the other boy steps closer, he tilts his head up and waits. He meets Matsukawa’s eyes. 

Their lips touch with a soft familiarity, quiet and intimate. Takahiro can feel the ache in his body but there’s a spark igniting in his veins as Matsukawa’s fingers slip into his hair. He pulls back slightly, enough to catch Matsukawa’s eyes, and he grins.

Their hands link together naturally, until they make it off the bridge. The ramen shop is just down the street, but they take their time. And if Takahiro walks close enough for their fingers to brush against each other, well, that’s nobody else’s business but their own.

**Author's Note:**

> @puddingcatbae on tumblr/twitter


End file.
